Witterings of One Not Related to Uncle Geoffrey
by Sohara von Salienta
Summary: Lavender Brown is a surprising mess who would give quite a lot to overcome her problems that involve a toilet with backwards bulimia and horrifying private meetings with Professor McBigStickUpHerBum, but those problems love her far too much to let her go.
1. Resolutions of a New Year

**Witterings**** Of One Definitely Not Related To Uncle Geoffrey**

_Lavender Brown is a surprising mess, and she would give quite a lot to overcome her problems that involve de Pierre of Gascony's feets, a toilet with backwards bulimia, horrifying and accidental private meetings with Professor McBigStickUpHerBum, and her headcase mother. Unfortunately, those problems love Lavender far too much to go away._

_Disclaimer: What you recognize as J.K. Rowling's is indeed J.K. Rowling's. I am not making any money from this whatsoever; am in fact spending money (use of electricity for computer and Internet), and I have likely stolen other things from other places as well, however accidentally (or not). Lauren Bacall, obviously, does not belong to me, and neither do the starving children in __Africa__. (Actually, it would make quite a bit of sense if they did belong to me, as they would be starving just as much under my care as under their own. I am significantly poor.) Most other things should be mind, but enjoy if you wish and if this fic lends you to be so inclined._

7 a.m.

OhmyGod I hate my life. Not only did I get a seventy-two percent on my Transfiguration final exam last year and thereby brought my total grade down to seventy-five percent, but Hermione Granger is bustling about with her hundred-and-fourteen percent and gloating about it, the chip on my tooth from accidentally biting down on toe of newt in Potions last year appears to be permanent, today is the first day of school, and the bathroom for the fourth-year girls is overflowing _again. _Periodically, it decides to practice backwards bulimia, and instead of sucking everything down its little throat, it spews it back up.

And, er, yes, that is actually backwards bulimia, if you are a toilet.

But either way, our carpet is soaked in I-don't-want-to-know-what, and my red slippers are quite positively ruined, meaning that I am stuck in scratchy grey wool slippers and have to walk downstairs to use the first-years' bathroom.

7:15 a.m.

Suppose it's time to get ready then, right?

7:20 a.m.

Oh, well, it's all right. I can sleep a bit longer. Don't want to trip over first years while trying to wash face. Might squash them, they're so tiny. All in the spirit of kindness to others.

7:25 a.m.

I am not going to sleep. I am meditating calmly on the influence of harmony and magic on the overall school day.

9:05 a.m.

Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!

12:00 p.m.

McGonagall not in good mood this morning. Suppose wasn't good idea to come skidding into class at nine-fifteen and have forgotten homework in room. Even worse idea was to look at her hand when she slowly scribbled down large fat zero at hearing that I did not, in fact, have my essay with me at the moment but could get it to her right after class. Witch.

…In the bad way, I mean.

Parvati got to hear about my most extreme dissatisfaction through lengthy note-passing in Flitwick's class, because it is all her fault that I slept in. As best friend, she should have the courtesy to not make me late for McGonagall on the first bloody class of the school year, and I told her so. Her response was to lecture me on going back to sleep after she woke me up in the first place.

Hate Parvati.

In most loving manner, of course, as she is best friend, but right now, hate her, because she is quite right.

Lunch is most disturbing today. Shepherd's pie is not so much shepherd's pie as shepherd's sheep goop, and I believe I detect walnuts in the chocolate mousse pie, which is just wrong. Also, I really don't know how poor Harry Potter and Ron Weasley have gotten this far without bashing Hermione's head in; she's ranting about house-elves for some peculiar reason. Maybe it really is just me, but I can think of quite a lot of things more endurable to rant about than invisible servants.

12:10 p.m.

Parvati said that Hermione was just in a really bad mood because of some injustice about house-elves, but I told her, in the most loving way possible, to please shut up, because I am not in any mood to listen to anything about Hermione Granger. The girl annoys me horribly. Oh, all right, she's a fine roommate; isn't messy, isn't fussily clean, although she's getting there, and she does occasionally give homework tips, however much they have to be forced out of her. But really, she's horrendously overachieving and doesn't miss a chance to fuss about how little she's reading and about how bad her grades are, which really makes me want to strangle her. I would kill, murder, and/or torture to have her bad grades.

Still, homicide isn't an option as of yet, since our Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers still have not found the time in their oh-so-busy schedules to teach us the Killing Curse, so that will have to wait for better and more educated times.

3:30 p.m.

…I absolutely despise History of Magic.

3:31 p.m.

Seamus has quite the right idea. I believe he's snoring. Fantastic idea, really.

3:32 p.m.

No. Mustn't. Mustn't. Got enough sleep this morning. Scribble notes! Must scribble notes!

3:34 p.m.

Rodolphus the Great killed Roger of Fenwick the Fourth in the Battle of 1365 when the trolls overran the magical community of Warwickshire and began the practice of launching blazing rocks at their enemies.

November 14, 1366 Warwickshire capitulates

November 17th, 1366 De Pierre of Gascony incites a revolt against said trolls and twenty-seven villagers die, though not de Pierre, who was rumored to have kept himself locked away in an inn with the innkeeper's daughter while the revolt took place.

November the Somethingth, Something Sixty-Six Mr. Angry Bastard the Forty-Sixth Conquers Something Else And More People Die, Die, DIE!

…Oh, dear, I think I definitely need a nap.

4:59 p.m.

Ooh, perfect timing! And—yes, there goes the bell! Goodbye, Professor Garbage Binns, until Friday, which is four whole days away!

7:00 p.m.

Oh, God, why am I so bored? I have homework in front of me and a fire next to me and I am so prepared to do homework except for the one single inescapable fact that I AM JUST SO BORED.

You know, something should be done about this. I should take charge. I should take charge of my own life and FORCE it to be something. I should become a NEW PERSON this school year, one just like Hermione Granger, except with more fun and more social life and less rantage and less boring-ness and less just basically Hermione-ness, except for the studying bit. Right. I will make out my list now. Resolutions are not just for New Year's Day, or to be discarded the morning after. Mine are to be stuck to and kept, because they are made in the flush spirit of a new school year.

Yes. Exactly. Right.

Hmm.

WHAT I WILL NOT DO THIS YEAR:

1. Be late to class. EVER.

2. Sleep so bloody much. Am capable adolescent without diseases, so should only need eight to ten hours of sleep, not twenty-four.

3. Fall asleep in Binns' class, or call him or any other teachers rude names (even mentally) that have invented in copious free time, i.e. during class.

4. Give in to the universal prejudice about Slytherins. It is, after all, not their fault that they were bunged into that house at eleven years old, and it is not possible that each and every little Slytherin child was a complete bastard at birth. I hope.

5. Rant at poor Hermione behind her back. She is perfectly capable of unlocking this journal, or of torturing Parvati. Not that that would be hard. All she would have to do is start babbling on about something apparently important to the rest of the world, like starving children in Africa. Which, let me assure you, I am indeed dreadfully concerned about, but not to the extent of ruining my own dinner. If I bothered to send them my dinner, it would be spoilt by the time they got it, so not worth effort. Instead, will work on ending world hunger one bit at a time, starting with myself.

Where _did_ I put those Chocolate Frogs?

Oh, wait; list. Right. Which brings me to the next item.

WHAT I WILL DO THIS YEAR:

1. Start some kind of diet. It is really ridiculous that I end up skipping dinner most days because I have a stash of candy in my trunk. Just because I have it does not mean I have to eat it. Generosity and Abstinence must be practiced, both with capital letters so as to provoke some kind of fear and respect in my mind for those two terms.

2. Do my homework on time. (Which I will do, just as soon as I finish this list.)

3. Abstain from eagerly watching owls in the morning as they bring mail, which irrevocably brings home the fact that I am a sad sack as never get any mail whatsoever, not even from my mum.

4. Use mother as comparison to self, as mother is special breed of headcase indeed and should not be compared to self as standard for behavior, no matter how many butterbeers I may have imbibed.

5. Bring home more than ten bottles of butterbeer from Hogsmeade, as am convinced that house-elves already think am crazed drunken maniac. Or, abstain from peeling labels off of butterbeer bottles, so that people can clearly see that I am not drinking myself into a drunken stupor, but merely pretending to do so while sniffing: "Have a drink, Mr. Marlowe?" in manner of 1940s American love-object.

6. Yelp too extravagantly about Lauren Bacall in public, as people probably think I am a lesbian anyway on account of this and that really isn't the case. I want to _be_ her children, not _bear_ her children, and I feel almost positive that this statement was misunderstood gravely during our second Hogsmeade visit last year.

7. Learn how to flirt, or do something attractive to the opposite sex, which does not include learning how to belch fire. (It is all Uncle Geoffrey's fault. He was quite spiffy at Auntie Pauline's Bastille Day party a few years ago, which she holds every year notwithstanding the fact that we are not in the slightest bit French, and he belched all over a flaming torch and it looked quite as though he was spitting fire. Which is fun and amusing and really rather cool when you are all of eleven years old.)

8. Be better at schoolwork, and this does not mean brownnosing. It means being an intelligent, mature, knowledgeable person of fourteen years who studies in the evenings.

9. Be nicer and more gracious to Hermione. She does, after all, need help. (And I need help in the homework area. Fair trade. Please do not ask about my own social life; you will get v. vague and roundabout answer.)

10. Keep face clear of all spots, pimples, scars, nervous eye twitches, and stop eating the skin off of inside of mouth. (Eurgh, sounds gross when put down on paper, but is a nervous, addictive habit.)

Oh, blast, does this look like a boring year.

But! Can start item number eight, list two right now. Schoolwork.

8:45 p.m.

…Well, I've done my Transfiguration essay, at least. Have found superior remedy to procrastination: write "Professor McBigStickUpHerBum" at top of parchment roll and look at it whenever I think of stopping for a short break. Has worked superbly so far, and I may be breaking Rule Three, List One but overall Rule Eight, List Two is more important. Now, to reward myself, I shall—

Ooh, no, I won't. Diet, remember? DIET. Healthy diet for fourteen-year-old schoolgirl which includes overcooked broccoli and steamed beets and really badly done Brussels sprouts and oh God where's my bag of sweets?

8:50 p.m.

I can always start my diet tomorrow.

9:00 p.m.

Blast first-year girls. They giggle at you horribly when you examine your face for spots in the mirror. All they have to bloody worry about is not having food on their faces. They should really think about long walks by the lake, into the lake, and into that giant squid's mouth.

9:30 p.m.

Bedtime for the New and Improved Me.

****

Tuesday, September 2nd, 1994

7:00 a.m.

La, do I feel rested and accomplished and isn't that sunrise early? Pretty, pretty birds…blargh. Too fecking tired. Perhaps will have nap…

No! Won't. Am remembering list. Have taped list to headboard so will be certain to see list when wake up, so am getting up now and taking long, hot, steamy, relaxing shower.

…In the first-year girls' bathroom.

Maybe I could try our bathroom? It's the toilet that's overflowing, really, not the showers that have combusted. The showers should still be working. At least it would mean privacy.

7:20 a.m.

…Oh, Godddd, I hate this schoooool. Grrr, grr, brrrrrr, bzzy bzzz dearGodI'mcold.

Turns out the hot tap was turned off in our bathroom, and I stepped directly into v. freezing stream of cold water, which I subsequently thought would be good for the system, so I did not do the sensible thing and scuttle back into my bathrobe and downstairs, but stayed and washed hair and scrubbed self all over and stayed to get rid of underarm hair but really had to dash before shaving legs, because that water was just too bloody cold for poor shrimp like me.

7:45 a.m.

But at least I'm ready, and dressed, and my hair's decently okay, and…

Oh, dear. My hair.

Must remember number seven on list: be more attractive to boys.

Right. Parvati has curlers somewhere, I think.

8:05 a.m.

Oh, God, am frightful mess. Hair frizzy and most Hermione-esque and distractingly hideous. It is like what would happen if a toaster met a fork and a wig and they had little threesome babies.

8:15 a.m.

Parvati was v. kind about whole fiasco, even lending her superb skills to twisting bushy and flyaway hair into tameable knot at nape of neck, although a few wispy things cannot really be said to be controlled as of yet. But. Breakfast! Am not sleeping through breakfast!

8:45 a.m.

Pansy Parkinson just made v. rude comment about hair, asking for help with the Curse of Uncontrollable Frizziness, but in the spirit of the New and Innerly Poised Me Who Follows Guidelines Set Out On List One, Item Four, I did not tell her that she had apparently already achieved it to perfection and abstained from sending a Humidity Jinx at her once she had her back turned. Instead, I told her to bugger off in elegant and poised fashion and resumed my path to Care of Magical Creatures along with Parvati, which we unfortunately have with the Slytherins again this year, bugger it all.

8:55 a.m.

Ooh, have found nice Ice Mouse in pocket. Think will snack a bit before class.

8:56 a.m.

Oh, Merlin, nonononono! Diet, remember? DIET. Healthy diet for fourteen-year-old twit.

"If you're not going to eat that," Parvati said nosily, pointing at the Ice Mouse, "I will."

In great spirit of generosity I gave said bit of candy to her and promised her that she could loot through my candy trunk once we got back, upon which she stared at me like onlooker gaping at madwoman.

"You've gone off your rocker, haven't you, Lavender?"

"I am not," I said, annoyed. "I am merely giving up sweets. They're bad for you."

"I am quite aware of that, though it never stopped anyone on this earth before."

"Well, it is stopping me," I huffed. "I am becoming a New Person this year, Parvati, one with a steady diet of good food and healthy exercise and attention to schoolwork."

"Oh, Merlin," Parvati mumbled. "Not again."

I resent that remark very highly, thankyouverymuch.

Parvati insists that the only reason I am doing this is to become attractive to the boys from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Actually, I had almost forgotten about the Triwizard Tournament, some age-old competition thing they're holding again this year and getting two other schools to participate in. Unfortunately, they're not letting anyone under seventeen participate, and the prize is a thousand Galleons. Parvati and I have already started planning to inveigle ourselves with whoever wins, so that we can get a crack at spending his or her money. Preferably his, really, as I don't see how any seventh-year girls would bother with us.

9:05 a.m.

Oh, finally. It's about time Hagrid showed up.

9:10 a.m.

Dear GOD, what are those THINGS?

9:11 a.m.

Blast-Ended Skrewts, apparently. Whatever that is. Eurgh. They're like gigantamongous slugs with stingers and they shoot off places and they burp fire and make odd popping noises and altogether remind me far too much of my Uncle Geoffrey, which is v. disturbing, as they are indeed more like slugs than any other animal or beast I have yet seen.

Maybe this is a statement about Uncle Geoffrey?

Would not be surprised.

10:35 a.m.

Torture beyond Hell and the Fires of the Damned And Icky is what Care of Magical Creatures is. Honestly, I can't wait until Hagrid gets himself mutated or blown up or eaten and we can have a nice, sensible substitute instead.

"He's the best Care of Magical Creatures teacher we could ever have," Harry Potter insisted like the brownnosing little pet he is, trying to fight Hermione, who for once seems to have the right idea.

"Harry, don't you think he's taken things a little...er…too far?"

"He's a wonderful teacher!" Harry Pratter continued. "Right, Ron?"

Poor Ron Weasley. Had to back him up no matter what, as they have a best-friend code. Have given up best-friend codes long ago, as they are more trouble than they're worth and don't allow you to make snarky comments to your best friends, and Parvati and I have far too much fun doing that.

12:05 p.m.

Think I have a cold.

Hate cold showers.

Homework:

Potions essay on use of mandragora in Reviving Potions

Research for Hagrid on flobberworm food

Transfiguration essay (finished)

Charms: read chapter 1, take notes, and answer questions at end of chapter and write mini-essay on the uses of Bunglement Charms in burglar alarms

History of Magic: one roll of parchment on the feats of de Pierre of Gascony (battlefield feats, not feats of physical stuff done in inns with innkeepers' daughters, and much less the feets of de Pierre of Gascony)

Merlin; might want to get started, then, what?

_Daily Quotas:_

_Sweets 0, essays completed 1 (good), other homework done 4 (all of Charms—good), mental rants about Hermione 2 (not bad), butterbeers downed 0 (wonderful, but does not really count as have had no chance to acquire butterbeer, therefore abstinence was not really practiced), disturbing thoughts 13 (all about Uncle Geoffrey, though), snarky comments avoided 6 (and most of them came to mind while I was staring at Pansy Parkinson)_


	2. Essays, Beetles, and Unfortunate Exposur...

**Witterings**** of One Definitely Not Related to Uncle Geoffrey**

**Chapter Two: Essays, Beetles, and Unfortunate Exposures**

**Thursday, September 4th, 1994**

8:30 a.m.

First week of school going wonderfully so far. Have not missed breakfast, fallen asleep in class, or said what I thought of Pansy Parkinson. Have all homework done, especially nice Divination homework, which I have elaborated on with little pretty illustrations, although have indeed studiously ignored another Potions assignment which I got yesterday and isn't due till next week. (Had much other homework that had to be finished first.) Transfiguration is next, and I am going to be happily handing in my perfect and completed essay which I have made sure is in my bag, thereby turning over a new leaf at the same time. Helped Parvati on hers, too, and look forward to becoming known as brilliant and generous schoolmate.

9:20 a.m.

Oh, God. McGonagall is glaring at me. What, what, what have I done now?

9:25 a.m.

"Miss Brown, may I please speak to you after class?"

…Help, help, help, help! Poised self is rapidly starting to sink into floor. What could I _possibly_ have done now? I was on time, I had my homework, I took notes during class…

Maybe she wants to kill me, so that she does not have to put up with another Hermione Granger.

Satisfying thought, somewhat, but not really, as this means I am doomed.

10:40 a.m.

…Urgh. I am going to kill myself and then torture myself until I am dead. _Why, _Lavender, _why, why, why?_

Professor McGonagall shooed everyone else out of classroom, then beckoned for me with one threatening finger. Was v. seriously considering Obliviating myself, but abstained, as it might just go wrong and however much I admired Professor Lockhart, I do not admire his current mental state of zilch.

"Miss Brown, would you care to explain this?"

She was holding out my essay, and pointing to the top of the roll of parchment. Grinning idiotically (with fear) I nodded, and then froze. Directly next to her finger were the words: "Professor McBigStickUpHerBum".

Oh, _God_.

This is _exactly _why I made Rule Three, List One. This is _exactly_ why I made that rule.

"Er," I said intelligently, trying to stall for time.

"Yes?" Professor McGonagall inquired. I peeked towards the door and saw Parvati standing there, out of sight of McGonagall but clearly hopping up and down on toes in v. worried fashion. Love best friends.

"It was, er, motivation," I finally managed.

"_Motivation?"_ Professor McGonagall demanded, looking absolutely livid.

"Um," I squeaked. "Yes, well, I was trying to do my essay ahead of time, and…er, well, this sort of helped me not to stop in the middle. I did mean to tear it off before I got to class, but I think I forgot."

"You most certainly did forget," the red-with-suppressed-rage teacher humphed. "Next time, be more careful, Miss Brown."

And she pointed to the door. Too shocked to comprehend that I had gotten off without a detention, I scuttled out, promptly ran into Parvati, and was halfway to Defense Against the Dark Arts before she caught up with me.

"Lavender! What _happened?_"

"I was very stupid," I admitted miserably. "I didn't tear off my motivation from the top of my essay."

"What motivation?" she asked, confused. "Wait, you didn't forget to—"

"I did," I mumbled, even more miserably. Parvati had read my essay beforehand and had giggled a bit at the offending phrase, meaning that I thankfully did not have to repeat it.

"Oh, Merlin, Lavender," she sighed, and I chose to ignore that her expression looked very much like forced-back laughter smeared onto a face.

"He has not been helping me very much," I said grumpily, in the perfect mood to kick Merlin directly in the buttocks, and then I shut up as I was walking into Defense Against The Dark Arts.

12:00 p.m.

I can't please any of my teachers, can I?

Ooh, someday I am just going to explode. Either I'm in trouble for not doing my homework or I'm in trouble for doing my homework and showing it off to Parvati under the bloody desk right under the bloody nose of the bloody teacher with the bloody all-seeing Eye. Hate Professor Moody.

"You need to put that away, Miss Brown, while I'm talking."

…urgh.

But the lesson went okay. We were shown horrendous torture, amusing antics, and swift death of three different spiders, and I hope that if I am ever re-incarnated as a stray animal Professor Moody is not put in charge of my shelter, because then I would cry.

But now. Lunch. Lunch, lunch, munchy munchy munch.

12:30 p.m.

Well, not so much lunch as all-around-gorging fest, but I shall continue to call it lunch. V. good today; kidneys, mashed potatoes, salad, leek-and-onion soup, some pasta-y thing with red peppers and tomato cream sauce, chocolate cake with what appears to be green sprinkles on top (in celebration of the end of summer? Do not understand house-elves) and small bowls of walnuts for some obscure reason.

Oh, dear, no; those aren't green sprinkles; that is parsley.

What is parsley doing on my cake?

5:00 p.m.

Rest of day went v. well. Plan to improve self by becoming better person is working wonderfully. Have, however, broken no-dieting rule this evening as was so traumatized by unfortunate event of parsley snippets on icing of chocolate cake that began to fancy parsley cooked into cake and other various items of ingestion. Images began to revolve in head, such as nasty overcooked brown parsley getting stuck in teeth and dangling down to chin and getting brownish-green goop everywhere, and result was that Lavender Brown stayed away from the Great Hall entirely during the evening and holed self up in dormitory, taking refuge in candy that has been transferred to Parvati's trunk.

Homework:

Potions: read pages 18-27, write essays on two of three questions at end of chapter, 1500 words each (blaaaaargh, can wait till weekend)

Divination: dream diary (work in progress; not dreaming anything much as of yet)

Care of Magical Creatures: none (done)

Transfiguration: find topic for mid-term project, also read chapter 3 and summarize (have chapter 3 read; must go ahead and summarize, also visit library)

Charms: read chapter 2, take notes (done)

History of Magic: none (done)

…I enjoy writing the word DONE behind homework. It gives me this lovely feeling of accomplishment and greatness and just plain un-Lavender-ness, if you really want to know. (Un-Lavender-ness is usually a good thing, despite the fact that it is not a generally accepted word, term, or concept)

_Daily Quotas:_

_Sweets 12 (not bad considering lack of dinner), essays completed 0, other homework done 4 (Charms and Transfiguration; am counting "read chapter" as separate bit of homework), mental rants about Hermione 1 (but an ongoing rant, so not v. good), butterbeers downed 0 (still no chance to acquire, but v. good), disturbing thoughts 21 (what on earth _was_ parsley doing on my cake, anyhow?), snarky comments avoided (far too many, what with Professor Moody and the parsley incident)_

**Friday, September 5th, 1994**

7:30 a.m.

Wonderful start to day. Woke up at six fifty-five to roommate's snoring (not sure which one, as it stopped just as I woke up), and slithered out of bed and into first-year girls' bathroom for shower. Do not know why little first-year girls stared at me as I stepped out of shower, snickered, and then scuttled out, as I have not told anyone about the fearsome Cold Shower Fiasco, but apparently this is just another consequence of living at Hogwarts, where deep and dire secrets are the first to be known to all.

7:45 a.m.

…_What has happened to my hair?_

I think I'm going to cry.

8:45 a.m.

I did cry. I howled, in most undignified manner, for best friend, who skidded over to my bed, pulled the blankets away from my head, and tried v. hard not to burst out laughing. She will be an expert in the latter skill by the end of this year, I imagine. Hmph.

"Merlin, Lavender, what on _earth_ did you do?"

"_Nothing_," I wailed, staring at the large black beetles entangled in still wet hair. "I didn't do _anything._ I went downstairs and _showered,_ that's what I bloody did." This, apparently, is why the little brats were sniggering at me. OhGodohGodohGodohGod. Get them _away_ from me! I do not like beetles, I don't, I don't, I don't. I want them to DIE. They are _icky_, crunchy, eewy—"_Parvati!"_

"What?" she asked, obviously trying not to vomit as she tried to untangle one of said beetles from hair.

"_Help,"_ I whined, quite ready to bawl.

"Oh, dear," Hermione Granger said, blinking her eyes rather rapidly. She has been scuttling off to the library every morning to research house-elves for her new obsession, whatever it is, and came back to fetch her schoolbag. "Lavender, what happened?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, sobbing rather heartily by now. "I washed my hair and walked back in here, and, and, and..."

"It looks nasty," she said, testily lifting up one of the knots of hair and jumping back quickly as she discovered that the blasted beetle was actually alive and wriggling.

"_Euurgh__!"_ Parvati shrieked, jumping back herself and covering a much larger distance, meaning that she leapt behind her own bed and knocked over one of her water-glasses. The batty girl thinks that everyone's system is improved by drinking lots of water, and she leaves the bloody glasses all over our dormitory as a result of it, often causing many accidents.

"I am going to DIE," I yelped. "Get them off me, off, off, off!"

"I've got some bug spray," Parvati suggested. "We could—"

"You are _not_ bug-spraying my hair! Doesn't _anyone _know any counter-spells for this or something?"

Both of us immediately looked at Hermione.

"I could try Banishing them," she suggested. "But I've only read about Banishing Spells; we've never actually done them in class—"

"Do it!" I begged, and would have gone down on knees had that not meant that I would have had to move my head, meaning my hair, and thereby bringing the beetles into closer contact with my skin. "Please, Hermione, please, please, please!"

The result of all of this is that Hermione Granger is not as brilliant as I thought she was. She Banished the beetles from my hair so quickly that parts of my hair got singed, and the only way for me to hide this is by, a, wearing my hair tucked under my pointy hat all day long, which does not work in a classroom because other people actually have to see over your head, or, b, enlisting Angelina Johnson's help and dividing my hair into ten little cornrow braids, which we ended up doing. I love girls.

Oh, not in _that_ way, you idiot.

However, Parvati proved her loyalty to best friend by throwing on some clothes, brushing her irritatingly non-singed hair, and rushing down to the Great Hall and returning before class with a bundle of bacon and blackberry-marmalade-on-buttered-toast to share. Love best friends. Napkin was unfortunately ruined, but Parvati argued that we pay astonishingly high prices for tuition anyhow, so Hogwarts owes us at least one napkin. I do love it when she's right (and I'm not wrong).

Also, right now, I happen to adore Hermione with every fiber of my being, though not as much as Angelina. Both of them are, however, my current heroines. I planned to make "Eternally Grateful Minion of Angelina Johnson" and "Fervent Slave of Hermione Granger" badges, but then Parvati pointed out to me that this would not help the lesbian rumors, and unfortunately she is, again, quite right. Grr.

Will have to make it up to my excellent benefactors some other way, then.

5:42 p.m.

…What about sashes? I could make sashes.

5:43 p.m.

Communicated sash plan to Parvati.

5:45 p.m.

…Must think of other plan.

Homework:

Potions: none (ha, done!)

Divination: dream diary which is work in progress

Care of Magical Creatures: None. Who is surprised, honestly?

Transfiguration: Largeish project. Must visit library over weekend to find subject.

Charms: none (done)

History of Magic: Read and summarize chapters 2 and 3; write 2 rolls of parchment on the Worchester Battle of 1455 and the influence of Burbleish the Seriously Disturbed, or whatever his name was. Ask Parvati; kill Professor Binns so that he really dies.

_Daily Quotas:_

_Sweets 3 (had to have something sustaining to make up for beetle trauma), essays completed 0, other homework done 0 (all finished!, v. good!), mental rants about Hermione 1 (but rant in which wondering why she is so tragically under-appreciated at this school), butterbeers downed 0 (the usual reason, unfortunately), disturbing thoughts 55 bazillion (beetles, beetles, beetles!), snarky comments avoided 1 (v.g.; to Parvati, no less)_

**Saturday, September 6th, 1994**

9:00 a.m.

Love weekends. Great Hall open till nine-thirty for breakfast and I can flop downstairs in pajamas.

9:05 a.m.

Blasted list. Okay, fine, fine; make self attractive…where is my black skirt? Black skirt…black skirt...

9:07 a.m.

Have found black pumps, but not, alas, black skirt. Must be here somewhere, though.

9:10 a.m.

Ooh, found light blue blouse I thought was lost over the summer. Lovely. Now, where is my blasted black skirt?

9:20 a.m.

"Parvati, have you seen my black skirt?"

She frowned a bit. "You wore it Tuesday, didn't you?"

"Yeees," I admitted. "So?"

"I think you spilled pumpkin juice on it at dinner. Want to wear mine?"

Almost threw myself at her in ecstasy, but controlled self before any little first-years poked their noses in the door and spied anything of questionable intentions. "I lurrve you," I swaggered, catching the skirt she threw at me and realizing that I had been wandering about the dormitory and searching through my wardrobe, trunk, cavern underneath bed, and laundry bin while wearing nothing but bright blue knickers and a light blue blouse and while parading bum to half-open door. Felt v. ridiculous and was v., v. glad that none of the boys can come up our staircase.

"Hullo, all," a voice called from the doorway, and I immediately dropped my skirt in terror. "Anyone know where Ginny's room is?"

…Then, on turning to me: "Nice show, Lavender."

Am seriously going to die. Or kill them, preferably. Hate Weasley twins, hate them hate them hate them! Want to know how to perform homicidal curses NOW, Professor Moody!

"Seventh door on the right," Parvati told him, sounding v. scandalized on my behalf. "Get out! You're not supposed to be here, you perverts!"

"The Hogwarts founders didn't allow for broomsticks," Misters High and Mighty proclaimed, holding up their own. "Flew up the staircase. Not their fault, though; Quidditch wasn't played back then. Anyway, thanks."

"Yeah," Fred shot back. "But anytime you want to visit, Lavender, we're the room on the right, just past the fifth set of torches."

"You!" I squealed. "Get out!"

"We're only joking, honestly!" they protested, somewhat startled as I began flinging whatever I could at them, i.e. my black pumps and the black skirt, as being the only things within range. "Lord, Lavender—ow! Hey! Stoppit! We're—"

"_Don't you hex my black skirt!_" Parvati yelled, rather too late, as it sank to the floor in a pile of cinders. "_Nooooo__!"_

Fred and George took this moment to scamper off, and I took this moment to hide under my bed.

9:40 a.m.

…Have definitely missed breakfast by now. Bugger. Dare not come out from under bed, though. Parvati is still vaguely sifting through the cinders of what once was a really nice little black skirt from her grandmother, and I…

…I have dust bunnies on my blouse.

Lovely.

10:02 a.m.

Still under bed.

…Wonder if should use this time to perfect drawing skills?

12:37 p.m.

Cannot draw.

Also, hate the underside of my bed.

Resolution Number Eleven, List Two: Stash books and non-perishable food of some sort other than candy under bed, in case of this ever happening again.

Alternately, I could just not scamper under the bed.

Or I could face the music, meaning the wailing screams.

2:43 p.m.

Maybe I'm exaggerating. After all, Parvati surely isn't shallow enough to want to give up her best friend in memory of a poor skirt that her best friend did not even kill, technically.

2:45 p.m.

Yes. Parvati is a kind and sensible and mature being. Also, I should have mastered the Shield Charm by now.

2:47 p.m.

Deep breaths. Now. Emerge.

2:48 p.m.

Oh, God, am frightful coward.

Also, have missed lunch.

2:50 p.m.

And study time.

Though, right now, lunch is far more important.

2:55 p.m.

Number Twelve, List Two: GAIN COURAGE OF SOME SORT, EVEN IF IT IS COURAGE OF MOUSE. COURAGE OF LAVENDER IS COURAGE OF WORST QUALITY AVAILABLE AND SHOULD BE SACKED IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING PURCHASE OF NEW COURAGE. EXTRAS NOT INCLUDED.

…PURCHASE NOT NECESSARY. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED.

3:16 p.m.

I am a sad, sad being.

3:18 p.m.

Naps: two. Pages filled with scribbles: two, because Parvati has not left the room and am afeard to turn pages. Noise, and all that.

3:43 p.m.

Oh, good, she's left! Ha! Eased self slowly out from underneath bed, celebrated ability to put pants on (no black skirt, alas), brushed hair and pulled it up into bun, picked up schoolbag and skedaddled for library.

5:30 p.m.

Have found good book for Transfiguration project that could include many different topics (Ancient Magical Methods of Cartography, Including the Biography of Four-And-Twenty Best-Known Magical Cartographers And Explorers), and considering dinner. After all, Parvati would not dare to kill me in front of the school. There are teachers watching, you know, as well as a host of students. _Witnesses_.

Right, dinner. Food!

6:15 p.m.

Odd. Parvati was not at dinner. Wonder where she was.

9:21 p.m.

Not that it matters. I'm not dead yet, anyway. Think will go to bed early, so as to avoid her when she comes back.

Homework:

Same as Friday but did Transfiguration

_Daily Quotas:_

_Sweets 3 (had to have something sustaining to make up for beetle trauma), essays completed 0, other homework done 0 (all finished!, v. good!), mental rants about Hermione 1 (but rant in which wondering why she is so tragically under-appreciated at this school), butterbeers downed 0 (the usual reason, unfortunately), disturbing thoughts 55 bazillion (beetles, beetles, beetles!), snarky comments avoided 1 (v.g.; to Parvati, no less)_

_Sweets 0 (paper around sweets is crinkly and noisy; v. bad!) , essays completed 0, other homework done 1, mental rants about Hermione 0, butterbeers downed 0 (reasons obvious by now), disturbing thoughts 0, disturbing occurrences 1, almost-naked searching dances 1 (not v. good), snarky comments avoided 0 (but not because was holding self back; was because could not say everything at once and as a result tripped over words and just shut up. All of this directed to Weasley twins, of course.)_

**Read? _Review!_**


	3. Squirrelly Divinity

_Ha, am finally updating again! Is all the fault of mad computer, honestly, which is refusing to accept the fact that it is indeed connected to the Internet. See the consequences of wiping out your hard drive. SEE. ACCEPT. LOATHE. BUT LOVE LAVENDER._

_…Because, y'know, she really needs some love right about now._

_Disclaimer: All that is mine are the situations Lavender finds herself in, and not even all of those. Basically, I've stolen a character I didn't create and put my own spin on her life. You may sue me, Mrs. Rowling. You have every right to. I think. But, see, this would make you admit that you somehow inspired this mad-crazy thing of a main character, and you probably wouldn't want that._

****

**Witterings of One Definitely Not Related To Uncle Geoffrey**

**Chapter Three: Squirrelly Divinity**

**Sunday, September 7th, 1994**

5:07 a.m.

It is five o'clock in the morning, and Lavender Brown is awake.

She welcomes the Apocalypse, the Second Coming, and the End of the World, and invites them all to take baths in prepared rose-scented water with flower petals floating amongst the bubbles before attending her luscious banquet. Entertainment will be provided by the dancing talent of a host of horizontally gifted Arabian sheiks and the flobbering up and down of their fat wobbles as they bounce up and down to "YAY, YAY, YAY!" by the Quidditch Queers.

5:12 a.m.

Parvati, apparently, was under the impression that something horrible had happened to me, in the way of an abduction. First, she applauded the abductors, meaning the Weasley twins, but gradually she became worried, and by about three o'clock was completely convinced that I was lying half in, half out of a toilet somewhere, with a sign taped up above me reading _I WAS MURDERED BY MOANING MYRTLE _in Fred Weasley's handwriting.

In lovely best friend fashion, she rounded up Norma Kingsley, Hermione, Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas to go on a searching spree, and they looked everywhere except where I really was (do they honestly think I never get into the library? Pfft!). Then, they ran outside, scouring the grounds, and managed to get locked out. It was four-thirty before the brilliant idea hit them to go wake Hagrid up and ask him to let them in, seeing as he is, after all, the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts.

Then, of course, Parvati, Norma, and Hermione came back to bed and saw me lying there, snoozing peacefully and having a very disturbing dream about Cousin Raymond which I will explain later, and they awoke me and were generally v. indignant at something that I swear is not my fault, if you overlook the fact that it just might be, a little bit.

7:15 a.m.

Ran into Seamus Finnigan downstairs, who asked me where I had been and what had happened to me, and I sort of glared at him and stated: "Go away. I hate you," before stalking off to breakfast. I consider myself fully justified, though, because he is part of the troupe that kept the rest up till five in the morning.

8:31 a.m.

Oh, miracles!

Have letter. Finally! Am not completely unloved!

8:33 a.m.

Is letter from Mum.

8:34 a.m.

…Is addressed to "Mr. Lavender Brown".

Oh, dear.

8:41 a.m.

Is indeed very disturbing.

…Have never read anything more disturbing in my life.

8:43 a.m.

Including, I think, that time in St. Mungo's when I had gone for my thirteen-year checkup, and some idiot of a Healer scribbled "rien" next to that little box marked _MENTAL DISEASES_, and I spent months convinced that I was mentally ill and had somehow contracted rien, a disease I had never even heard about because it was so bad, and then Auntie Pauline sent out her Bastille Day party invitations, which are partly in very bad French, and I saw the word "rien" next to "Please bring".

I thought it meant me, at first, and had a very scary moment there, as apparently I was no longer known by Lavender but by the name of my disease, and started to wonder what I would call my hypochondriac Cousin Raymond, because I didn't think "Cousin Everything" would be that appropriate. Then long period of amusement crept in, during which I renamed several relatives and waved hello to Auntie Humongous, Cousin Smelly Feet, and Cousin Spotty out of window as they arrived for Mum's scary ladybug-themed birthday party.

Then, of course, I was informed that "rien" meant "nothing", was not pronounced "ryenne", and I was left to deal with my own mad self without any excuses for being myself.

8:45 a.m.

This is one letter Parvati is not reading, and it is going somewhere _secret_.

12:23 p.m.

Have just completed new entry in dream diary, and now have two, one about alligators and the other one that was mercifully cut short by Parvati and Co. on Sunday pre-morning. I believe I was mysteriously in the act of marrying my very gay Cousin Raymond, who then attempted to strangle me with his bridal train after the service was completed in order to marry Mum's hairdresser, and I somehow ended up kissing my mother in the midst of all of this confusing chaos.

I believe I may have an Oedipus complex.

Except, you know, that I'm not male.

My Greek is a bit rusty. Is there such a thing as an Oedipusina complex?

…Doubt it.

But I probably have a Lavender Brown complex anyway, which is much worse: it is UNIDENTIFIED.

12:31 p.m.

Do you know, I believe that dream may be telling me that people will go to any and all lengths to kill me, even to go through an obviously suicidal scheme just to go through with the Homocide of Lavender Brown. It explains my ninth birthday party, at least.

Poor Uncle Edgar.

Heart attack, my foot. I still maintain he was poisoned. After all, he slumped over dead in Mum's hydrangeas _after_ abducting my chocolate cheesecake with ten pink candles and dispatching all of it.

I will end up dead someday, you know, dead as a coffin-nail that will not have to be used because coffins will likely be glued shut by then, glued shut with that special nail-glue of Mum's that gets on your middle finger and sticks itself to the inside of your right nostril and won't dissolve until about a week and a half later.

And no, that did _not_ happen to me, thankyouverymuch.

…Apparently, it's happened to Mum.

**Wednesday, September 10th, 1994**

12:06 p.m.

Free! Free at LAST! I hate Double Potions, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. Not only do I have to sit across the aisle from Pansy Parkinson, I also have to deal with the fact that I am a terrible potions concoctor and am coming really close to failing that class. Again.

It really doesn't help that our professor's a complete and utter bastard.

Well, at least I'm not Harry Potter.

12:10 p.m.

..,Because, if I _were_ Harry Potter, not only would I be terrifically hated by the Potions master, I would also be male.

12:12 p.m.

…And the Dark Lord would be out after me.

12:13 p.m.

…Me, as in, a male me.

Oh, God. Maybe Mum was right. Am I indeed a Mister Lavender Brown?

12:15 p.m.

Love Parvati. She laughed at me in an "aren't you the ridiculous twit" fashion when I asked her if I was a Mister, and I felt much better. Then she looked pointedly at my chest and said: "Yes, well, Lavender, if you were male, you wouldn't have those."

To which I replied, in v. intelligent fashion, "Parvati, you have forgotten about sumo wrestlers."

And I stalked off, probably leaving her wondering what on earth sumo wrestlers were.

…I remember when I found out about the scary wrestler people with far too many fat rolls for comfort and oodles of breast-fat—er, I mean, muscle. Uncle Geoffrey tried sumo wrestling, in an attempt to make his poor little daughter's chest grow. I believe the idea behind this was to make his own chest expand unnaturally and thereby make his daughter's chest jealous and competitive so that it would start growing faster. The main factor that he forgot was that chests do not work this way, and the other factor that he forgot in his frustration was that it is very hard to undo a double Enhancement Charm, if not in fact impossible.

Well, at least he can get men to open doors for him at supermarkets.

5:12 p.m.

Parvati and I skittered out of Divination together, and I started heading for Gryffindor Tower to dump my books on my bed, and realized that Parvati was not following me. I hurried after her and asked her where on earth she was going, as she was mysteriously heading towards the dungeons, of her own free will.

"I've got to ask Professor Snape something."

"What?"

"Er…about homework."

"About what homework?" I frowned. For once, the man refrained from giving us any except the questions he wrote on the board about chapter three and I know Parvati has those done, because I saw her do them during Divination.

"I accidentally handed in something that wasn't homework," she admitted, turning an odd shade of red. "It was a mistake, and I've got to get it back now before he reads it."

"What was it," I wondered.

"A letter," she said shortly, walking v. fast.

"A letter?"

"A letter."

"One of those nasty, embarrassing, personal, private, horrendously awful letters that you can't let anyone else see for fear that you will have to kill them?"

"Yes."

"Oh, dear," I said, remembering Mum's letter from this morning and shuddering at the thought of Professor Snape finding it. "Parvati, you will have to kill him."

"I know," she almost wailed, slumping against a portrait frame.

"I will not help you."

"Grr," she growled indistinctly. "Okay, fine. I'll see you at dinner."

"Yes," I agreed, walking in v. proper manner back to dormitory and promptly getting my foot caught in one of many bloody trick steps, the point of which I do not see if it isn't blatant sadism.

"Bugger," I grumbled, dumping my books onto the floor. "_Parvati!_"

Nothing. Too far out of hearing, I think. I hope, that is. Would hate to think that best friend would not even bother to help her best friend, should best friend call her name loudly and in agony.

"Lavender?" a voice asked. "Is that you?"

"Yah!" I shouted, jumping about a foot in the air, and having to yank myself back down, as one foot was really quite incapable of leaping at this point.

"It's just me," Seamus Finnigan grinned, stepping out from behind a tapestry. "Here, lemme give you a hand."

"This is so embarrassing," I muttered while being pulled out of the trick step by two hands that grasped me under my arms and wondering if this was what amputation felt like.

"There you go," he nodded, as my feet hit un-tricky steps again.

"Schptanks," I said indistinctly, wobbling a bit and wishing away the painful twinges all along my leg. Wishing, by the way, does not work.

"So," he said, suddenly uncomfortable for some odd reason, and jamming his hands into his pockets, "er, are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, yes, fine," I muttered, highly embarrassed at whole situation and eager to scurry off as soon as bloody well possible. "Right. I'll be going then."

He sort of frowned, and then shrugged. "Okay, then. Fine. See you around."

Okay, getting away from here right now right now _right now_.

Homework:

Herbology: chart thing on reproduction process of bubotubers, ugh, ugh, ugh.

Care of Magical Creatures: avoid eye contact with Hagrid during next class and therefore avoid being singled out to do anything whatsoever with icky screwts

Divination: dream diary, which I have made progress on but am tempted to lie on, because I don't think I want to know what that dream about Cousin Raymond was about

Transfiguration: seventeen-inch essay on the similarities of a hedgehog and a pincushion for absolutely no reason whatsoever, continue researching cartography project

Potions: ask Parvati

Defense Against The Dark Arts: prepare report on one of three Unforgivable Curses at least 3,000 words long (hate that teacher, hate him)

Advanced Astronomy: star chart of Pleiades and surrounding areas with radius of 60 light-minutes; am thinking this is more like Physics than originally anticipated, and getting irritated. After all, am stupendous witch with ability to make things turn green and should not need to know actual math behind stuff.

Charms: practice that trampoline-bouncy charm thing

History of Magic: ask Hermione as no one else pays attention anyway

Overall: get back on track with schoolwork; this is getting ridiculous.

_Daily Quotas:_

_Sweets 4 (not bad), essays completed 0 (not good), homework completed 0 (also not good), snarky comments avoided 0 (said them all; not good), potential sex changes 1, disturbing letters 1, disturbing thoughts 14 (all thanks to Mum and Uncle Geoffrey), times nose has been eaten off by plant 1, overall mood: not v. good._

**Thursday, September 11th, 1994**

8:45 a.m.

Oh, GodohGodohGod, late late late! Late, late, late…shower? No time for shower. Oh, GodohGodohGod. Skirt? Skirt? What happened to—wait, never mind. No such thing as little black skirt; house-elves not done laundry yet and Parvati will turn into Pansy Parkinson before she lets me borrow any of her clothing again. Jeans. Jeans, jeans, jeans. Where, oh, where would I be if I was a clean pair of jeans?

8:55 a.m.

…Not in Lavender Brown's universe, apparently. Right, then. If I was a dirty, crumpled pair of jeans thrown under Lavender Brown's bed a week ago, I would still be under her bed, and I am _so_ going to be late for claaaaaass…blouse. Blouse, blouse, blouse. _Where_ are my bloody _clothes?_

…Clothes not important. Must get to class on time. At least robes are clean. Can just throw them on over bra, can't I? Is black bra, anyway, so should not be so obvious under black robes that fasten in the front.

9:02 a.m.

Have never run so bloody fast in my life but am in class on time and Professor Sprout is not there yet anyhow and I should have worn a belt over these robes but Merlin and Zeus and the Lord of the Dance willing, we will not be working with plants of the persuasion that try to pluck your overgarments away from you. So. Calm. Deep, cleansing breaths—

9:30 a.m.

…during which I will not attempt to breathe in the fangs of a Fanged Hydrangea.

You could have warned me beforehand, you know, Lavender, instead of letting me find out what it feels like to have a carnivorous plant dig its way into my bloody nose—

Oh, ha, right. Um.

9:35 a.m.

Hahahahaha, I crack myself up. Not that my nose is bleeding anymore, but it certainly is still bruised, and it was bloody at the time, so…

All right, yes, I will never again attempt any sort of pun whatsoever.

10:20 a.m.

…Grr. I just _had_ to be released in time for Transfiguration, didn't I? Typical, typical, typical, and I do wish magical medicine didn't work, sometimes.

However, I do love the way Norma's concealer works on my nose, as it is still rather purple. She came up to visit after Herbology and to drag me back to McGonagall's classroom, but handed me her concealer out of mercy. Her skin color and mine are almost the same anyhow.

10:35 a.m.

"Brown, who ate your face off this morning?"

…Grr, grr, grr. Hate Pansy Parkinson. Want to kill her until she is dead. Dead, dead, DEAD. Why must I always run into her in the hallways when I am in a really stupid position, even when I don't have classes with her till bloody _Friday?_

10:45 a.m.

Hate hedgehogs. Hate them, hate them, hate them. Hate quite a lot these days. Would admittedly like my hedgehog much more if it decided to turn itself into a pincushion, but it seems to have no intention of doing any such thing. Grr.

10:59 a.m.

Also hate Hermione Granger, who has managed to turn her hedgehog into not only a pincushion, but a nice red pincushion with a special little appendage to poke needles into and a stupid gold tassel, which she can shove up her—

Right, er, yes.

Um.

Back to actually trying to do my work, then.

11:45 a.m.

Or…back to miserably failing my work, if that's the way the gods are inclined to view things. But honestly. Failure is just a concept. It is an idea come up with by evil school board people to force us to have bad opinions of ourselves and it has no value whatsoever.

11:55 a.m.

Except on my "classwork" grade. Grrrrrrrr.

12:15 p.m.

Nothing beats a wonderful lunch sans scary parsley. Does wonders for the stomach, the thinking faculties, however slight they may be, and the coolness of the head, especially when one stays very far away from the hot spicy peppers Dean Thomas is pouring into his mouth.

12:17 p.m.

…I have never known that skin can turn from really dark brown to a lighter shade of burgundy after the application of twenty-three red-hot peppers. Most interesting.

So interesting, in fact, that I will actually confine myself to watching instead of participating.

Oh, dear, that looks painful.

12:57 p.m.

Oh, God, meant to find blouse before Defense Against the Dark Arts! Too late now; must rush, rush, rush; will be late for class a-bloody-_gain…_

1:01 p.m.

Hate this castle; _must_ it be so bloody huge?

1:02 p.m.

Only slightly late. Is not so bad. After all, class usually takes about five minutes to start anyhow. Professor Moody surely won't be too ang—

1:03 p.m.

"Miss Brown, would you care to be our first volunteer?"

Um. Right.

"Now, please pay close attention. Miss Brown is going to _attempt_ to resist the Imperius Curse."

Grr. Hate him. Hate him hate him hate—

Aahh.

Nice floaty world. Very nice floaty world. Feel drowsy. As if have had several shots of vodka. Not as if have ever done that, exactly, but is feeling like that. So I'm told. It was someone else's dream, and I don't think I was in it anyway…aaaah.

Iss vernicefeeling. Ooh, have voice in head! Isslovelyvoice, nice and sultry and justoooooooohhh…

"Aren't squirrels lovely, Miss Brown?"

Oh, squirrels are _divine_. Simply _divine. _I love the little thingies, so squirrely and fluffy and pretty and…

"Imitate a squirrel for me, Miss Brown."

Oh, the divineness of actinnike a squirrel. Isslovely. Yum. What do squirrels do? Squirrels…aah, squirrels hop...they hop and scamper…and chew on things.

…nefferknewthisswasswhata tableleg tastedlike. Yummy.

"Squirrels climb, Miss Brown."

Aaaaah, what a lovely voice. Lovely, lovely, loffly. Yes. Climb. Climb…whatto climb? Treesh…treesh…where to findatreeesh? Treessshissshtall…talltreeshthing…yes, thing. Ooh, tall thingyeshgoodideaclimb, Lavender, climb. Nice climby thing. Oh, dear, robesssh in way. Must move robes. Aaaaah.

Hum, treesh issh fuzzy. Hum, wonder why…funny treeshthing. But nice treesh. Very nice treesh. _Divine_ treesh. Simply loverly—

"AAAGH! LAVENDER, GET OFF ME!"

1:21 p.m.

…Oh, my God.

1:22 p.m.

"Um, right, yes. I'll…just go get my blouse, then, shall I?"

"Yes, Miss Brown, do so. _Immediately_."

Oh, _God._

1:33 p.m.

Have never been more embarrassed in my _life._

On bright side, have apparently been excused from class and have no other class for rest of day so can simply sit in room dying of complete and utter embarrassment and lack of butterbeer.

But is okay. Life is not so bad. I can overcome this…somewhat really horrific experience if I put my mind to it and continue to act in a serious and mature fashion that does not involve climbing onto Seamus Finnigan's back and unclasping my robes to reveal the lack of a blouse, all while chattering teeth and wriggling nose in imitation of a squirrelly-thing—

_Mummy!_

1:45 p.m.

Am securely swathed in turtleneck. OhGodohGodohGod. I will have to transfer. I will never be able to look in the mirror again for fear of dying the death of just being ME. I...

I am going to kill Professor Moody.

And that is all.

1:59 p.m.

Heard creaky thing outside and immediately dived under mounds of covers. Am just going to rot here, and then commit mass homicide, because suicide has been proven to be a Very Bad Thing, and the sort of Thing that all teen-agers are cautioned against. Homocide, though, doesn't seem to be as bad, because there are no little instruction booklets that your mad private school hands out that tell you why it is bad to kill an entire room of witnesses. Suicide is a Whole Different Matter and should be Avoided At All Costs. The lesser of two evils, I figure, wins. Mass homicide it is.

…as soon as I learn the Killing Curse.

Which would mean setting foot into that class again.

Oh, GOD, no!

Will simply be Samson, and break foundations of Hogwarts and thereby kill entire student body. Or be Delilah, and find strong-man somewhere who will agree to kill people for me.

Maybe this is why You-Know-Who has so many followers. They all have dirty little secrets that they are too embarrassed to face and have joined the Army of the Devil because they want their witnesses to be as silent as the grave.

…And…they took that theory one step further and actually put them _in_ graves.

Good plan, actually. Maybe You-Know-Who not so bad after all.

...Oh, God, want Mummy.

5:03 p.m.

Parvati and Norma just came skidding into dormitory, with, I hope, words of sympathy and love and hope and good cheer for the sick-at-heart and—

"Lavender, you _idiot_, what on _earth_ did you do that for?"

I am _doomed._

Homework: do not care as will never again attend class here and anyway, can ask Parvati.

_Daily Quotas:_

_Sweets 45 (reasonable under terrifying circumstances), essays completed 0 (will not matter long-term anyhow), other homework completed 0 (again, will not need), additions to terrifying, embarrassing, absolutely horrendous memories 1, purple noses 1 (v. good; would be awful if had two purple noses, or just two noses. Would be like Eloise Midgen, except with two noses instead of one, or Auntie Pauline, except with two noses instead of fourteen chins.)_

**Read? _Review!_**


	4. Love the Lovely Best Friend

**Witterings**** of One Definitely Not Related to Uncle Geoffrey**

**Chapter Four: Love the Lovely Best Friend**

**Friday, September 12th, 1994**

4:34 a.m.

Cannot bloody sleep.

New school year not going so well. Started off okay and then sort of fizzled and tried to die, but had large explosion while in process of fizzling and is now just plain unbearable. Also is not letting me die yet. Evil school year.

So far, have accidentally insulted v. strict Transfiguration professor, somehow gotten a mass of beetles tangled in my hair, showed off bright blue knickers to the Weasley twins, been mistaken for male child with name of Lavender by own mother, had nose eaten off by frightening fanged plant, and, lastly-and-I-only-wish-leastly, climbed on top of Seamus Finnigan and unclasped robes to reveal lack of blouse, all while acting like possessed squirrel.

…Why, oh, why am I still alive?

Urgh. Not so bad, I suppose. Was under Imperius Curse, and entire class can attest to that. Lack of blouse will take some explaining, but can always tell truth; i.e. was v. late.

Must try to sleep. Really must. Is ridiculous, this insomnia thing which isn't insomnia but simply refusal to go to sleep because am v., v. afraid of being plagued by dreams in which Uncle Geoffrey prances around on Seamus Finnigan's chest and then proceeds to rip off robes to reveal shiny black bra with rhinestones on spelling out _LEGALIZE THE MERCY KILLING OF MY NIECE_…

I am going to _die._

5:12 a.m.

Would appreciate it if could at least go to sleep, though. Am assuming this is what is meant by "long and painful death". Even longer for me than for silly little hospital patient people because they can go to sleep and do not constantly have to live with their horrid little selves every moment of every day. Literally.

Baaaaaagh.

6:12 a.m.

Staring at clock v. amusing activity indeed. Almost reached inside clock and fiddled with hands to speed up time before remembered that time operates quite independently of my alarm clock and setting my clock at seven-fifteen a.m. will not, in fact, make it seven-fifteen a.m. It will just confuse me when it rings tomorrow morning at seven a.m. and I shoot out of bed, into shower, and into clothes before realizing that it is somewhere around six-thirty in the morning and I have all of two and a half hours to do nothing in.

Sounds quite appealing, actually.

Think will set clock forward. Not forty-eight minutes, merely five.

6:22 a.m.

Or ten. Ten sounds better. Should make it ten.

6:28 a.m.

Fifteen is a nice, round quarter, though.

6:34 a.m.

Ahh, the nice-ness of believing that it is six-thirty four when in fact it isn't, it's just six-seventeen. Makes me happy, though. Am now fully justified in getting out of bed and taking nice, long, hot shower in fourth-year girls' bathroom that is not flooded and the plumbing of which is actually working and the hot water is hot, but not scalding.

7:01 a.m.

It is a SIGN! I haven't jinxed myself! This year will get better. I know it will. I didn't flood the bathroom and didn't stop up the plumbing and didn't take a terrifyingly cold or scalding hot shower. _Life is getting better._

Now, to convince the rest of the school about this.

Urg.

Maybe I'll just go to breakfast early. I did skip dinner out of embarrassment and all.

7:15 a.m.

…Oh, dear.

Apparently Seamus has had the same idea.

Grr. Mustn't run away. Mustn't run away. Must be strong being with backbone of steel as opposed to weak being with backbone of jellylike substance resembling own slightly overlarge bum. Must have courage and face fellow embarrassed creature with resolution and the significant absence of fear.

OhGodohGodohGod, swallow me right now and digest me if you have to, as long as my feet don't make me sit down next to—

7:32 a.m.

"Er, hello, Lavender."

Meep.

"Hi," I squeaked. "Lovely morning, what?"

He sort of stared at me as if I had suddenly not only ripped off my robe in front of him but my bra as well, assuming that he was gay, meaning that he was staring at me in horror of the most horrific kind imaginable and unimaginable.

"Yeah, it's…it's nice."

"Listen," I sort of gabbled uncontrollably, reaching across the table to try to steady myself on something. "I know that what happened yesterday was completely stupid and unnecessary and just plain embarrassing, but you have to believe me because I didn't mean to rip off my robes in front of you; it was Professor Moody, it's all his fault, it really is, and I swear he made me do it; I was under the Imperius Curse and I couldn't control anything anyway and the blouse thing wasn't on purpose; I was just really, really late that morning and forgot to find my blouse during lunch because of Dean and the peppers and I was almost late for Moody's class anyway so I couldn't do anything during lunch and I didn't mean to climb on top of you; it's what squirrels do anyhow and I was just told to be a squirrel and I didn't mean to be a stripping squirrel, I really didn't, and…"

There was a really, really long pause just then, in which I stared at Seamus fanatically with great big boiled-gooseberry eyes and he tried very, very hard to run away by staying in one place.

"Um," I said, finally realizing what I had just managed to babble. "Right. I'll…er, see you in class, then?"

"'Kay," he said, looking utterly terrified, and I promptly turned around and scuttled off like a scuttling rabbit, which was a very good move on my part as there is no such thing as a scuttling rabbit and I desperately wanted to imitate that habit of not existing.

9:05 a.m.

Oh, the lovely loveliness of losing myself in my…er, very, very hard work of reviewing Cheering Charms. Love this class. Lovely, lovely class. No one pays attention to you except your very best friend Parvati who is partnered with you and the little three-foot-high professor who does not matter anyway as you can't be embarrassed by someone three feet high. You just pretend you don't see them, and voilà! Love the lovely Charms class.

…Oh, dear, Defense Against the Dark Arts is next.

Gaaaaaaaaah.

10:50 a.m.

Managed to sneak into class before it started and only got one or two rather odd looks. V. good. Day is improving already. Ah, and there is Professor Moody, too, with the v. formidable attendance sheet that will not have a tardy mark next to my name this time!

"Miss Brown?"

"Present!" I chirped, smiling innocently and in a way that suggested that Professor Moody please please _please_ not make any mention whatsoever to yesterday's incident—

"Miss Brown's blouse?"

Grr. Grr, grr, grr. _Grrrrrr_.

"Miss Brown, is your blouse present, absent, or tardy?"

"Present," I mumbled, sinking down into my seat and wishing for a suddenly appearing caveman to throw a very sharp spear at Professor Disturbingly Sadistic.

11:55 a.m.

There is no way I will be able to escape this man's horrible, horrible sense of humour as long as I _live_.

"For next Thursday, I want you to have a thirty-two-inch essay on the reasons making the Imperius Curse an Unforgivable, citing at least five good examples. Miss Brown's name may only be mentioned in one."

_Grrr_

12:06 p.m.

Am being Strong Woman, though, and going to lunch, because is apparently useless to hide from humiliation anymore and I do not let myself become bogged down by scarring experiences involving stripping squirrels, and, anyway, am hungry.

1:08 p.m.

Love History of Magic. Love it. Love, love, love. May even draw hearts around name of course in schedule. Aaah. Love Professor Binns, a lovely lovely professor who does not take delight in embarrassing his students.

1:09 p.m.

Good night.

2:30 p.m.

Good morning.

2:51 p.m.

Good God, where is everyone else?

2:52 p.m.

Oh, Merlin, I have Potions in eight minutes.

2:59 p.m.

Agh! On time, on time, on time! Yess! Yess, yess, yess!

3:01 p.m.

"Your assignment today will consist of brewing the second exercise in the Healing section of your textbook on page forty-seven. It will need to brew over the weekend and will have to be stirred regularly before you finish on Tuesday. I do hope that your Repetition Charms are up to the challenge."

…Bastard, he is, really, inveigling Charms into a subject that is very obviously not Charms, as the professor in the room is not kindly and squeaky and three feet tall and in possession of a generous, forgiving nature. Also, you know, there's the whole thing with the cauldrons and the ingredients and all.

Goody. Page forty-seven. _Most commonly used to heal second-degree burns; is to be daubed on the skin, not poured; see article on page 396 on Frederic the Skinless._

…Um, will really have to remember that. "Lavender the Skinless" isn't a particularly good way to be remembered for posterity. Daubed, not poured.

3:14 p.m.

Okay. Fifteen dried ears of a Crup, thinly sliced, two tablespoons dried fairy wings, three Chinese Fireball scales, boiled together in half a cup twining honeysuckle juice and three cups armadillo bile for half an hour or until mixture simmers down to exactly three cups…add blardy blardy salamander tail blaaaaaaagh.

3:20 p.m.

"Parvati, what comes after the armadillo bile…"

4:15 p.m.

Aah, have potion sorted out. Lovely. Is now happily simmering in cauldron complete with extract of violets, which Parvati almost forgot but which I saw just in time. And it makes me happy, anyway, to remember something when she doesn't. It's like being Watson and figuring out something Sherlock didn't, except I don't think that ever happened and Parvati isn't exactly Sherlock and I do hope I'm not as stupid as Watson.

…Er, okay, so it's nothing like. But it's the same general feeling sort of thing.

4:35 p.m.

"Miss Parkinson, please distribute Tuesday's homework."

Ooh, goody, wonder how I did. Hopefully an A…though, seeing as this is Professor Snape, I might as well hope for an O in Not Being Me.

4:37 p.m.

Oh! What? Yes! Yess! An A! Hahahahahaha! Haha! Ha! Yess! _Yessss_Working _does_ pay off! YESSS!

4:39 p.m.

Love Professor Snape. Lovely, lovely man; so generous and nice and fair and…

"Miss Parkinson, what is this?"

"I don't know, sir," Pansy said with an odd smirk, handing him a bit of folded parchment with something written on it in red ink. "It looks like a letter, sir, but it was in the homework stack."

"Let me see."

Hmm, wonder what that is.

"Do we have," he asked with a funny sort of smirk, "a Mr. Lavender Brown in this class?"

…Oh, no. Oh, _no._

The evil smirk made its appearance again. "No? I may just have to read this letter aloud, then, to see if anyone recognizes it."

I shot my hand up into the air _very_ quickly. "Er, Professor Snape—"

"_Dear Lavender,_" he commenced, fixedly not looking over at my frantically waving hand.

"Professor! Please! Professor! Professor!"

"_I do hope you're well, darling,"_ he continued, "_and focusing on your schoolwork and not taking after Auntie I'll-just-marry-the-milkman-for-a-lark-what-do-you-mean-no-grounds-for-a-divorce. I must tell you the funniest thing that happened the other day. Pauline and I took your Uncle Geoffrey out to lunch at the new open-air restaurant just across the street to cheer him up; the poor old thing's so dreadfully focused on his breasts and won't listen to me when I tell him that people love him for who he is, not for his Wonderbra. I think the effects of the Engorgement Charm are diminishing, actually, because he's been measuring and he's about an inch smaller in the bust. _

_"Well, we bought him several drinks, and he started crying and whining after he'd had about three shots of firewhisky, and eventually we got it out of him that he had been walking around in the women's department in Madam Malkin's, and the poor man was attacked by Malkin and her tape measure and he walked out of that store with two sets of aquamarine dress robes for women with double Ds before he knew what he was doing. Pauline and I made him try them on for us—and what do you know, he looks stunning in aquamarine! He's been parading about __London__ ever since we took him to get his colors done in a total state of complete happiness and I must say, if there's anything I love it's a man who knows how to have a good time._

_"Darling, do you still have that wonderful nail-polish remover of yours that dissolves those nasty artificial nails? Send a bit of it to me, will you? I've had an accident with the nail-glue and I do have to get my finger unglued before I go in to work on Monday. It's not easy to kiss people, anyway, with your middle finger stuck to your nose, and people keep thinking that you're telling them to do unmentionable things._

_"Oh! I ran into Warren from the Department of Magical Injuries yesterday, darling, and he gave me a nice little jar of ointment for that rash I had a couple of days ago. Your Cousin Raymond was with me and they're seeing each other as we speak, although I'm not sure I want to know what they're seeing of each other. But don't you worry, darling, your time will come; you really aren't a complete failure, no matter what you tell yourself. _

_"Love, Mum"_

4:57 p.m.

There was a sort of stunned silence, and then the giggles began, swiftly turning into hysterical laughter and leaving only two people in the entire room giggle-free.

_Parvati_

5:03 p.m.

"Parvati Patil," I howled, pinning her against the wall outside the dungeon, "_what_ were you thinking?"

"Nothing," she managed, trying very hard not to look guilty. "I didn't…"

"You _did!"_ I wailed. "You did, you did, you did! _How _did you get that letter, _how?"_

"It was sticking out of your trunk," she admitted, having the decency to blush. "I'm sorry, Lavender, I really am, and I tried to get it back, but Snape wouldn't let me near the homework stack, and…"

"Ungh," I groaned, slumping and letting go of her collar. "I will not have a boyfriend for the rest of my _life_. I won't have a _friend. _People will not talk to me in the halls for fear of catching the Virus of Just Being ME. _Why,_ Parvati, _why?"_

She sort of looked at me seriously then, and for once looked past the singed hair and the frenzied look and said, after straightening her collar, "Lavender, _I'm_ your friend."

I blinked there for a minute before realizing she was right, and then there was this sort of peaceful moment in which everything was all right and this knot in my insides got an early Christmas present of an extraordinarily fuzzy jumper and I hugged her, and she hugged me back, and it was a typical best-friend moment, and it was lovely.

Then, of course, Pansy Parkinson swept past me, stopped, stared at my chest for a bit, and suggested in a really catty way that perhaps I should start taking chest-enhancing lessons from my Uncle Geoffrey, and the world was back to normal, especially when she assured me that I was indeed a complete failure no matter what my mother thought.

Ooh, I can't _wait _till I think of something truly horrible to do to her one day, because, believe me, it will be _scathing_.

…Ooooooh.

_Pansy the Skinless._

I shouldn't.

I wouldn't.

I mustn't.

I could.

Oooh, I _could_.

**Homework**

Herbology: done

Care of Magical Creatures: none

Divination: dream diary which I must remember to edit

Transfiguration: work on cartography project, plus read chapter five, summarize, and do questions copied down from blackboard

Charms: read and take notes on chapter four; do exercises at end of chapter and review Cheering Charms for practical quiz on Tuesday

Potions: that potion-thing that's been simmering in the dungeons. Must remember to sneak downstairs and see if is still being stirred and if fire has not gone out.

Advanced Astronomy: two-foot essay on the studies made by the Romans of the planetary system

History of Magic: none, thankfully, except get notes from Parvati who is indeed very best friend whom I love so dearly

_Daily Quotas:_

_Sweets 16 (reasonable; had chocolate cake during lunch and had neither dinner last night nor breakfast), essays finished 0 (not so good), other homework finished 1 (Herbology; v. good), disturbing thoughts: many, many, many, and all involving different ways to kill fellow classmates and professors, clocks rearranged 1 (15 minutes, but must forget that have done this, because must make self think that is indeed 8:56 when is really 8:41 or something so will not constantly be late), lovely best-friend moments 1, evil thoughts concerning beastly classmates 1 (Pansy the Skinless, hee, hee, hee)._

**Read? _Review!_**


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